Bal'a Malanorā
by Dreadpool
Summary: Lacking the main body of her troop, General Erza Knightwalker is at odds with the oncoming fleet of the Dominion. In order to protect her men and complete her task, she is going to have come up with a strategy. Fast.
1. Wild Card

**In the Beginning...**

_there were Gods._ _The first of them, the great and powerful God-Titan, __**Demürus**__, created the world from the Stone of K_ā_besh. But He was unsatisfied with this world, because it was but a dense, molten rock of seething matter._ _So He sought out his Brother, __**Erübus**__, the Lesser Titan, who then created the elements and forged the seas and the oceans from the Aurous Scepter. So there came to be the skies and the clouds._ _**Demürus**__, however, remained unsatisfied with His creation._ _So then He beckoned to his Sister, __**Salānia**__, the Goddess of Wisdom, to bestow life upon the world using the Heart of Malorne._ _And so she did. And __**Demürus**__ was satisfied._ _Then He named this new world after Their mother, __**Āzriel**__._ _From Āzriel, there came to be two races._ _The first, of which, were the Werecats: proud, fierce, and independent creatures; whom were created in the image of the Cat-God Solembum. Their kind lived alone and unbothered in the land of Traia for ages uncounted._ _Then, at the start of the Second Era, the Humans, said to have come from the ice continent of Alaban, sailed to the land of Traia from across the Frozen Sea._ _The two races warred much, and in doing so tore the land asunder. But the Werecats were stronger than the Humans, and they would have easily destroyed them, if it were not for their unpredictability, and their sagacious leader, Mystograne._ _Mystograne, son of Mulzan, had borne with him an Ultimate Weapon capable of ending the Werecats._ _With this Weapon, the Humans prevailed, and much of the Werecat species were either slain or enslaved by the war's conclusion. The remainder of them fled the continent, defeated._ _The land, Traia, was thereby renamed Edolas by its victors, in honor of their Warrior-God, __**Edōl**__. And their leader, Mystograne, became the first King to rule over the Humans. It was said that he had spoken with the God-Titan himself, and had been granted untold Power._ _Soon after his ascension to the Throne, in the fourteenth year of the New Era., the King met his Love, Ezra. She was said to have been the fairest creature in all of Āzriel, perhaps descended from the Goddess __**Salānia**__._ _They married, and had two children: a girl, and a boy. Many moons passed, and a third child was conceived. The King was jubilant. But shortly thereafter, as the seasons grew bitter, the King was informed that his Beloved was suspect of infidelity. In a fit of rage, he smothered his wife in her bedchamber, killing both her and her unborn child. It was said that that night the Gods shed tears of blood at his misfortune. In a desperate attempt to reverse what he had wrought, the distraught King sought out __**Demorgia**__, the God of the Nether Realm. __**Demorgia **__proposed an exchange, and per this arrangement, the King would be granted the power to raise the dead, and in return, __**Demorgia**__ would have the Ultimate Weapon. And so it came to be. The King then went to the tomb of his Beloved, and used his new Power to bring her forth from the Grave. Mystograne saw she was not who she had once been. As he awoke to __**Demorgia's **__treachery, the King fell into the depths of madness. And he began to Break the World. The God-Titan, __**Demürus**__, and His Siblings were witness to this, and sought to undo him. As one, the Gods cast down the King into the frozen Pit of Sargeron, thereby sealing his Hate and bringing an end to the Dark Times, and the dawning of a new era of peace.._

* * *

**Bal'a Malanorā  
**

* * *

_**A Story Inspired by Hiro Mashima's Fairy Tail**_**  
**

**Created by Dreadpool  
**

* * *

**Wild Card**

* * *

"General, my General! The gate's opening!"

Erza Knightwalker looked up from a map of the surrounding territory which she was studying as one of the camp sentinels burst into the tent, red-faced and panting.

"Which gate?" she asked, a deadly calm settling over her. "Be precise."

"The one closest to us, ma'am..." the man swallowed, stuttering timorously. "On the road, not the canal."

With a snarl, she brandished her blade out from behind her. "Move," she growled, shoving past the sentry and exiting through the flaps of the tent, where she pushed her way through the camp to its southern edge.

There, she trained her eyes onto the imposing edifice that was Ceris.

The city, from its old-fashioned looking architecture and its Victorian outer walls, looked as if it had been built centuries ago, perhaps sometime during the Second Era. The structure, composed of two tiers flowing outward, contained several gates bestride its exterior: two of them opened to roads that entered the city - one from north and one from east - and the other three astride the canals which flowed southward, into the city. Behind Ceris lay the sea, where the canals presumably vacated.

To her dismay, she saw at least three hundred of the Dominion's horsemen pouring out from the city, their brightly colored standards snapping in the wind, their swords and battle pikes held aloft as they assembled in formation before the open north-facing gateway.

_We'll be slaughtered, _she thought, despairing. Only some hundred-and-fifty odd men remained in the camp, and many were wounded and unfit for battle. All the rest were either in the foundry, or at the mine further along down the coast, or on the banks of the easternmost canal which they had previously visited, searching for the rafts that were needed if her plan was to succeed. None of the warriors could be summoned in time to fend off the horsemen.

"Shit," she swore beneath her breath.

When she sent the men on their scouting trips, she had been aware that she was leaving the camp vulnerable to an attack. However, she had assumed that the city folk would be too frightened by the recent assaults on their walls to attempt anything so rash– and that the men she had kept with her would be sufficient enough to convince any distant observers that the majority of her forces were still stationed among the tents.

The first of her assumptions, at least, had most definitely proven to be a mistake. Whether or not the defenders of Ceris were aware of their contingencies, she was not entirely sure, but she thought it likely. In any event, she had to figure out a way to either avert or delay their attack, or so go into battle ill-prepared.

_If only they had given us more time..._

* * *

_"Are you feeling well, General Knightwalker?"_

_She wondered why the king was interested. "Not particularly."_

_"That's quite unfortunate," he said. "Were you up all night?"_

_"No, I was too tired."_

_"At least you had that much sense," he said, without looking at her. Reaching across the table, he picked up a tattered sheet of paper and scrutinized it before adding it to his pile. In the same matter-of-fact tone he had been accustomed to using, he said, "I have a mission for you, Knightwalker. Our forces at Ceris have encountered stiff resistance - more than we anticipated. Captain Doranbolt has failed to resolve the situation, and we need those men back now. Therefore, I am sending you to Ceris to displace Doranbolt. Fresh horses are waiting for you by the south gate. Pick one. I expect you to reach your destination within four days. That will leave you approximately... three days to end the siege." He glanced up at her. "A week from today, I want our banner flying over Ceris. I don't care how you do it, Knightwalker; I just want it done."_

_She swallowed, wondering to herself how she could hope to accomplish such a feat._

_"If you can't, then_–"

_"I have no experience with sieges," she cut in. "There must be someone else who would be better suited to the task. What about General Clive?"_

_Mystogan made a dismissive motion, shaking his head. "Not in his current state. He can't ride at full gallop with only one hand. You're just as aware of that as I am. You should have more confidence in yourself, Knightwalker."_

_She bit her lip, unsure how to respond to her new king. She was still accustomed to her previous majesty, Faust. During his reign, they shared a very different kind of relationship, if one might call it that. They were by no means friends. They hardly even knew one another. He was nothing other than "the king." And she was there to enforce his laws – good or bad – as he willed. _

_Mystogan set down his papers and leaned on his arms, glancing up at her. "You're famous, Knightwalker, you know? A real celebrity around here. You've proven to the world that you can fight… I watched you during the days of King Faust, I know what you're capable, and incapable of." _

"_And what's more," he said, "you're lucky."_

_He was right. She was still alive, after all. _

_"So, Erza Knightwalker, let us see if you are capable of something more, shall we?"_

_She nodded. "Yes, my King."_

_"Good. I am promoting you to Grand General for the time being. If you are to succeed in Ceris, consider the title permanent, at least until you demonstrate that you are deserving of either greater or lesser honors." Returning his gaze to the table, he began to sort through a jumble of scrolls, evidently searching for something hidden beneath._

_She observed him for a moment, captivated by his iridescent hair. She had never seen anything quite like it. _

_When he looked up again, she turned away, embarrassed. "I'll depart at once," she said quickly, striding toward the door._

"_I appreciate that."_

_Just as she crossed the threshold, Mystogan called out, "Oh, and Knightwalker?"_

_She turned around. "Yes?"_

_"Try not to burn down Ceris, would you? Cities are rather hard to replace."_

* * *

_Heh_, she thought, smirking. _"Try not to burn down Ceris,"_ she repeated mockingly, glancing over the barricaded city. _I'll blow it to smithereens. _

Midst her thoughts, a group of soldiers ran up, weapons and shields in hand. As one of them hastily threw on their helmet, another of them, presumably their delegated spokesperson, said, "What do we do, General?"

Before she could give the man an answer, near the base of the city, the red horsemen who had gathered at the maw of the gateway gave a series of whoops and shouts, before digging their spurs into their steeds, and taking off across the sloping plain which stood between them and their encampment.

Knightwalker spat in the dirt, cursing her misfortune. She guessed she had maybe five minutes tops to decide upon a course of action.

She tried to imagine how they could herd off enough of the onrushing cavalry where her men might have the advantage, but immediately discounted the possibility, for the land was too open and too flat for any such maneuvers.

They certainly had no time to do anything extravagant.

"I don't mean to intrude, General," spoke the same man as before, a collier called Hadrian Quinn. "But I think it would be best to flee, before those cursed riders are upon us."

Without looking at him, she responded, "Retreat? We'll not be doing such a thing. Our men could never escape on foot. And besides, even if they could," she paused, not taking her eyes off the cavalry, "I refuse to leave the wounded."

"But don't you understand?" said the craftsman, panicky. "We've already lost. If we stay, we'll be killed– or worse!"

"Leave it, lieutenant! I have no intentions of turning back now. There must be something we can do."

"But there's nothing we _can_ do! You've doomed this whole expedition with your lunacy! We'll be slaughtered like sheep!"

"Quiet! Erza bellowed. "I've had about enough from you. Keep your mouth shut, if you wish to stay alive!"

But the man resumed his tirade: "I won't allow you to squander our lives merely to appease your pride. Stay if you must, but–"

Erza had raised her blade, pressing it at the man's neck, letting him feel the hard-pointed tip which had claimed so many lives before him. "One more word out of you," she said callously, adding pressure, "and I will kill you."

The man squirmed for a moment, and then gasped as she let him go, feeling for his neck.

Beneath their feet, they could feel the drumming of the horses' hooves, the sensation growing stronger each second as the warriors thundered toward them.

Erza was not about to waste time looking back. Only three minutes remained, if that. She had to come up with something. _Fast_.

_We can't win if we_ _fight_, she conceded with resentment._ There's just too many of them. _

In an instant, she thought of a half-dozen other schemes to undermine the confidence of their foes, each more outlandish than the last, until she struck upon an idea that was so simple and so daring, it seemed almost perfect. Besides, unlike the others, it appealed to her ego, for it required the participation of only person: herself.

She smirked. Although she had not taken an acting class before, it would have to suffice.

"You," she said, addressing one of the men standing idle. "Order the men to hide in their tents!" she shouted, already beginning to move. "And tell them to keep quiet; I don't want to hear so much as a peep from them unless we're attacked! Got it?"

The private fidgeted, and then threw up his arm. "Yes ma'am!"

"And have someone fetch me the table my maps are on!"

"And mead! Where's my mead, blast it!"

* * *

As the pounding of the horse's hooves drew closer and closer, Erza sat calmly in anticipation on the stump-like section of log she had been using as a stool, with her feet kicked up comfortably on the wooden map table she had fetched from her tent. The sound of the galloping animals swelled until she became convinced that they were going to trample over her.

At the last moment, when the cavalry was only a few yards away from the table, someone shouted, "Whoa! Whoa there! Rein in your horses. I say, rein in your horses!" And, with a clatter of buckles and grunts and snorts, the line of animals reluctantly slowed to a halt.

Keeping her cool demeanor, her arms were folded, her eyes were angled downward, and her expression was lax, as though she hadn't a care in the world that an army of crimson-clad horsemen sat before her.

"You there, fine lady!" shouted louder than was necessary the same man who had ordered the soldiers to halt. "You there, I say! Who are you to be just sitting here like this? Do we not merit the courtesy of being met with drawn swords? We are in the middle of conflict! Who are you, I say? Speak up!"

Slowly, as if she had just taken notice of the soldiers, she raised her gaze from the table to regard a green-haired man with a flamboyantly plumed helmet who sat before her on an enormous black warhorse, which was heaving rather noisily in her face.

Making no effort to respond in kind, she said, "Who are _you_, I ask, to interrupt me during my leisure?"

Appalled by her discourtesy, he stirred before responding, speaking curtly: "Freed Justine is my name, Captain of the Guard. Rude as you are, I must tell you it would grieve me mightily to kill a creature as beautiful as yourself without first knowing her name." As if to emphasize his words, Freed lowered his weapon until it was pointing at her.

As if unbothered by his actions, she spoke boldly: "Knightwalker is my name," she said, looking right up at the man. "Erza Knightwalker, Royal Army Captain of the Second Magic War Division. And this is my encampment."

A rustle of unease spread among the line of horsemen as the feathers mounted atop their helms bobbed and fluttered, and, for a moment, Erza thought she saw Freed's eyes widen for an instant. "An impressive claim at that, but how can we be sure of its validity? Any one might say he or she is another if it served their purpose."

Erza drew her notorious blade and thrust it into the ground beside her, as if to prove a point. Then, ignoring the soldiers, she closed her eyes, and drank from the pungent mead which sat on her table.

"Ah," said Freed, and coughed, clearing his throat apprehensively. "You have a most.. illustrious reputation, Knightwalker, although some argue it has been exaggerated beyond all reason. Is it true, for example, that you single-handedly slew three hundred men in the village of Louen in Adnan?"

Setting down her mead with a muffled _thump_ against the map table, she wiped her face clean and then spoke: "I do not remember the name of the place, but if Louen it was, then yes, I slew many a soldier there one time."

"Really?" Freed said, astonished. "Your reputation does not betray you, then, Knightwalker." He continued, "such a feat might earn one a place among legends."

Erza shrugged. "I fight to win, not to lose..." she said, and then resumed her mead once more, before tipping it over and pouring what little remained onto the grass below.

"I see..." he said hesitantly, glaring at her with suspicious, as if not entirely convinced of who she claimed to be.

And then he was utterly still for a moment, as if lost for words.

Then, with an angry snarl, he yanked his horse around and shouted at his men, "Form up! Form up, I say... Get on! Yah!" And with that, he spurred his horse away from Erza, and the rest of the soldiers followed suit, bringing their steeds to a gallop as they headed back in the direction of which they had came.

Erza maintained her false veneer until the soldiers were well away, then slowly released her breath.

_It worked._

She heard men running toward her from the camp, and looked over her shoulder to see them approaching.

"You did it!" a scout exclaimed as they drew near. "I can't believe it! You did it!" He laughed and slapped her on the shoulder hard enough to knock her against the table.

Which he almost did.

The other men crowded around her, cheering and praising their captain, flattering her with such titles and compliments, and inquiring such questions to the nature of "How did you pull it off?" and "How many were there?"

Erza uttered a short laugh of relief, pride, and incredulousness as she smiled for the first time in which she could remember. She then gazed upon the city of Ceris once more.

Tomorrow, it would be hers.


	2. Shadow Marauder

**Shadow Marauder **

* * *

That night, Erza's sleep was shallow and troubled. It was impossible for her to entirely relax, under the gravity of her circumstances. Her muscles felt tight and contracted, a result of the day's strenuous endeavors. A line of vibrating tension had formed between her head and the base of her spine, a line that pulled her out from her dark, strange dreams at frequent intervals.

As a result, she woke easily when a soft, dull _thud_ sounded outside her tent.

Her eyes shot open, and she found herself staring at the panel of fabric above her head. The interior of the tent was barely visible, and only because of the faint line of orange torchlight that seeped through the gap between the flaps and the entrance.

The air felt cold and dead against her skin.

Erza shivered and kept her breathing as slow and shallow as she could while she listened for any other noises. The loudest thing she heard was the beating of her own heart, which grew stronger and faster as the thin line of tension within her neck thrummed like a plucked lute string.

A minute passed.

Then another.

Then, just when she began to think there was no cause for alarm and the hammering in her veins began to slow, a shadow fell across the front of her tent, blocking the light from the torches beyond.

Erza's pulse tripled, her heart pounding as hard as if it were going to burst from her chest. Whomever was there could not have come to rouse her for the assault on Ceris, nor to bring her some piece of intelligence, for they would not have hesitated to call her name and barge inside.

A black-gloved hand – only a shade darker than the surrounding murk – slid between the entrance flaps and felt for the tie that held them closed.

Erza opened her mouth to raise the alarm, then reconsidered. It would be foolish to waste the advantage of surprise. Besides, if the intruder knew he had been spotted, he might panic, and panic could make him even more dangerous.

With her right hand, Erza carefully drew the dagger from beneath the rolled-up cloak she used as a pillow, and concealed the weapon beneath the fold of the blanket. At the same time, she grasped the other edge of the blankets with her other hand.

A rim of golden light outlined the shape of the intruder as he slipped into the tent. Erza saw that the man was wearing a padded leather jerkin, but no plate or mail armor.

Then the flap fell shut, and darkness enveloped them again.

The faceless figure crept toward where Erza lay.

Erza felt as if she was going to pass out from lack of oxygen as she continued to restrict her breathing so that it would appear as though she were still asleep.

When the intruder was halfway to the cot, Erza tore her blankets off, threw them over the man, and, with a wild shout, pounced at him, drawing back the dagger to stab him in the gut as they crashed to the ground together with a _thud_.

She leaned in toward the man. "Who are you?" she growled, staying her dagger in place.

A half second later, she gasped as she felt two hard blows to her left kidney. The pain nearly incapacitated her as the air escaped from her lungs, causing her to roll over in submission.

Before she could recover, the man swiftly pulled her off the ground, and her legs gave way as she fluttered in the air: his large, thick fingers encircling her limb. She hung limp like a doll from the man's grip, her arm twisted at an awkward angle above her head.

For a moment, he simply held her that way, looking over her as if she were an unfamiliar creature he had encountered while hunting.

Then, handling her as easily as if she were a small child, he threw her crashing back to the ground, hard.

Erza bellowed as pain lanced down her spine from the base of her skull.

The man approached her, wheezing slightly, binding her to the floor and incapacitating her arms and legs.

Erza kicked like a rabbit, straining against her oppressor. For all her efforts, however, she could not stop the man. His limbs were like iron beneath her blows, his grip unwavering.

Desperate, she sank her teeth into the man's right forearm. Hot blood gushed into her mouth, salty and coppery. She choked but kept biting down even as blood leaked out from under her lips.

The man, seemingly annoyed, let go of her left wrist and slapped her across the face, hard.

A white light flashed behind her eyes. Her head snapped to one side, and her teeth clacked together as pain bolted through her.

Letting out her last breath, she went limp and stared aimlessly into the dark, sapped of her will to fight. Utterly beaten, she understood she was at his mercy…

_So this is how I die_.

For a moment, despair and self-pity bedeviled her. She had barely begun her life, yet now it was about to end, and in the vilest, most miserable manner possible. What was worse, she had accomplished none of the things she had hoped to. Not war, not love, not birth, not life. Her only offspring were battles and corpses and oaths of fealty.

And here she was, lying at the mercy of a man she did not even know the name of.

She was ashamed.

Rousing her from her melancholy, a soft, moist pair of lips touched against her neck. A hand brushed through her hair, fondling the side of her face, groping at her skin.

The nape of her neck prickled as she realized the man's true intentions. Terrified, she tried to let out a scream, but was promptly hushed by her assailant.

"Shh…" he whispered, pressing aside her bangs, as if assuring her all was going to be alright.

Distressed, she bit into his hand, hard as she could. Between her teeth and against her tongue, she could feel the muscles and ligaments which encased his bones.

The man grimaced in pain, slamming her head hard against the floor with a _bang_, holding her down like a misbehaved mutt.

He smacked his tongue, wetting his lips as he beheld her body: all for his taking.

She could feel his erection pressing against the softness of her belly, enlarging in concert with his labored breathing, which reeked of wine and mulled cider.

Without preamble, he spread her legs as widely as he could.

He was going to rape her.

Erza panicked. Her pulse hammered in her ears like a mad drum, drowning out her disheveled thoughts.

She could hear him unloosing his belt, grunting like a boar, fidgeting over his zipper as he struggled to relieve himself of his constraints. Then with a deep and hollow _sigh_, they came undone, and his stiff cock sprang out into the air: hard, discolored, and veiny.

The foul odor which followed was nauseating.

The man hunched himself over her body, snorting like a horse. A moment later, there was a faint tugging sensation at her panties.

Frightened as a fawn, Erza kneed him in the ribs three times in quick succession, and then bashed her forehead against the man's nose, breaking it with a loud _snap_.

The man snarled and thrashed across the floor, but Erza refused to stop there.

Retrieving her beveled blade, she lunged forward with a cry and tackled the man, somersaulting with him into one side of the tent, which collapsed on top of them, trapping them under heavy wool.

Erza growled, slowly pushing the dagger toward the man's chest. As they strained against one another, Erza was vaguely aware of people shouting outside the fallen tent.

Finally, the dagger plunged through his jerkin and into his flesh. The man convulsed, blood spurting over her face. Fast as she could, Erza stabbed him several more times, striking him wildly, then drove the dagger through his heart. Twice more the man shuddered and jerked, then ceased resisting and simply lay there, panting.

Erza continued to hold him as the life drained out of him, panting beneath the oppressive weight of the wool, their embrace as intimate as any lovers'.

Then his body went limp, and he was no more.

Erza let her head fall forward against the man's chest and gasped for air, shaking from head to toe as the shock of the attack racked her limbs.

Outside, people had begun to pull at the fabric resting on top of her. "Get it off me!" Erza shouted, and lashed out with her left arm, unable to bear any longer the weight of the wool, and the darkness, the cramped space, and the profound odor.

A breach appeared in the panel above her as someone cut through the wool. Warm, flickering torchlight poured through the opening.

Frantic to escape her confinement, Erza jerked to her feet, grabbed at the edges of the slit, and dragged herself out of the collapsed tent. She staggered into the light, wearing nothing but her undergarments, and looked round in confusion.

At least ten warriors were standing there, among them Captain Doranbolt, all of whom held swords and axes at the ready. None of them were fully dressed, save for two, whom Erza recognized as sentinels posted on the night watch.

"By Erübus," someone exclaimed, and Erza turned to see one of the warriors peeling back the side of the ruined tent to expose the battered corpse of her aggressor, whose nose was crooked and squashed flat – broken by Erza. A mask of blood covered the lower part of his shaved face, and even more stained the ground below him.

It was unclear whether he was of the Dominion or not.

"General Erza", said Doranbolt. Erza continued to stare at the man, unable to tear her gaze away. "Erza," he said again, but louder. "Erza, listen to me. Are you hurt? What happened? … Erza!"

The concern in his voice finally caught Erza's attention.

"What?" she asked.

"Are you hurt, General Erza!?"

Puzzled, Erza looked down at herself. Her torso was matted with gore from top to bottom, while streaks of blood covered her arms and her lower mouth.

"I'm fine," she said slowly, looking away, hugging herself in the cold. It was an unusual look on her face: one of loneliness, and uncertainty.

Doranbolt appeared to have noticed. And if it weren't for timing, he would have said something.

"Take yourselves to bed," she said. "We'll be leaving in a few hours, and I need you to be alert."

"Are you sure you'll be alright, General Erza?"

"Yes, yes," she lied, waving at them dismissively. "I appreciate your help, but go now. How am I supposed to rest with all of you hovering over me?"

After they had all departed, save Doranbolt, Erza rubbed her face and then sat on one of the stumps they commonly used as stools. She felt wrung out. Empty. As if she had done an entire week's worth of work in just a few minutes.

Doranbolt scratched his head, and then looked over at Erza. "Will you still be able to fight?"

"Yes."

With a deep _sigh_, he took a seat on the stump next to her. For some reason, he felt inclined to accompany her.

"You should get some rest," she said without looking at him. "Dawn isn't far off."

"What of you?"

"I'm going to wash, and find some clothes, and... -"

"Aren't you going to lie down?"

"No."

For a moment, there was utter silence.

"I understand." Doranbolt slowly rose from the stump. "I'll be in my tent if you need me."

Erza watched him dissipate into the darkness. When he was no longer visible, she closed her eyes and sighed, trying to calm herself. Summoning what little strength she had, she went over to the collapsed tent and dug through it, locating her clothes, weapons, and armor. The whole while, she avoided looking at the corpse of her pony-tailed aggressor, though she sometimes caught a glimpse as she moved about the premises.

Finally, Erza knelt and, with eyes averted, yanked her dagger out of the corpse. The blade came free with the piercing sound of metal scraping against bone. She gave the dagger a hard shake, to remove any loose blood, and heard the splatter of several droplets beating against the ground.

In the cold silence of the night, Erza slowly prepared herself for battle. She practiced her sword technique, and then she walked the perimeter of the camp, reviewing every aspect of their upcoming assault on Ceris. Afterward, she sat, alone, gazing up at the stars.

Yet, no matter what she did, her mind returned again and again to the scene which had occurred that night. It brought upon her a question of upmost importance.

_Who decides that one should live, and another should die?_

* * *

_**Thanks guys for the reviews. I'm very excited about this story, and look forward to continuing it as soon as I am able. So sit tight, and bear with me!**_


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